


(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction

by daltonandes



Series: Satisfaction [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: England and France are fuck buddies, Facials, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Pining, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, everyone is basically fuck buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 03:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17520962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daltonandes/pseuds/daltonandes
Summary: Arthur looks at him, at his bright blue eyes, his tall stature— was he always that tall?— his form-fitting jumper that really accentuated his muscles— was he always that muscular?— and exhales.“What are the rules?”Alfred smirks. “Okay, you can’t be with the same person twice, and you have to get them to cum. The world is your oyster.”aka that fic where America and England have a fuck contest and see who can collect the most orgasms.Mainly USUK, some FRUK and other pairings. Two part series





	(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> hi lovelies  
> yes, I'm starting a new fic, it's not super long, probably will have only 2 parts.  
> Ludwig's Eleven will be updated soon!
> 
> p.s. I got inspired to write this while rewatching OITNB, that episode when Big Boo and Nicky have a fuck-off lmao
> 
> title comes from the song of the same name by the rolling stones
> 
> thnx for reading! xoxoDev

**Part One**

 

 

**Day 1**

 

Of course, it was, Alfred’s idea, though Francis had something to do with it.

 

Arthur’s having his tea one morning, still in his housecoat, when a knock suddenly strikes the front door. Grumbling, he opens it. It must be Francis, he was about to give him a what for, it was too damn early to be bothered—

It’s Alfred.

Arthur wraps his housecoat tighter around his body. “Oh, Al, hello.”

“Morning, bro!”

His cheery attitude is even more annoying in the morning. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what do you want? It’s 8 in the morning.”

“Yeah, I know—”

“I’m surprised you’re even awake.”

“Hurtful,” Alfred feigns a pout and crosses his arms. “I just came to talk.”

Arthur rubs his right temple. “We discuss battle strategy on meeting days, you know that. This is my day off, my personal time—”

“It’s not about any of that.”

The abrupt way Alfred says that has Arthur’s attention. Was something wrong? Like, not ‘Help Arthur I set my microwave on fire while cooking a hot pocket’ wrong. But seriously wrong?

Sure enough, Arthur asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, totally, man. Can I come in?”

Why was he acting so weird? Fucking Americans.

Arthur lets him in hesitantly and then rushes to his bedroom. “I must get dressed.”

“Dude, I don’t care, I’ve known you all my damn life. I’ve probably seen more of you than you have.”

Arthur tenses and shuts the door anyway. Well, Alfred was certainly acting fucking weird today.

He throws on a casual outfit—one of his white button-ups and jeans. When he comes back to the kitchen table, Alfred is already making himself some coffee.

Arthur sits, his hand on his teacup. “I could’ve done that.”

“It’s cool, man.”

This was so strange. No fighting, no stress about meetings, no anything. It was weirdly refreshing, but still weirded Arthur out.

“So, what’s this about?”

Alfred is dumping loads of sugar in his coffee, making a mess while doing so. Part of Arthur wants to jump up and say he’ll finish it and to fucking stop making a mess of his clean kitchen, but Alfred isn’t slowing down.

Alfred turns, a mug with the UK flag on it in his hands. “I found something interesting.”

Arthur blinks. “Okay and?”

“Something interesting that belongs to you.”

Arthur is tensing again. “Uh huh, and what would that be? Spit it out.”

From his pocket, Alfred retrieves a small blue notebook and holds it up triumphantly.

Arthur’s heart freezes and he’s pretty sure it fucking stops right there. His whole body goes rigid.

“Your fuck book. Am I right?”

“I-it’s not what you think,” Arthur defends. “It’s not a fuck book.”

“Oh? Then what is it?”

“It’s a…collection.”

Alfred blinks. “You gotta be fucking kidding with me now, bro.”

Arthur scoffs and gets up, yanking the book out of his hands. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, last time I checked. Where did you even find this?”

Alfred chuckles, sipping his coffee. “You should really watch what you leave around France.”

“He gave you this?!”

“He found it for me, rather. And I gotta say, it’s got some interesting stuff in there.”

Arthur’s turning beet red. “Alright, now I have to ask— _why_?!”

“Why did he give it to me or why did I read it?”

“Both! That’s my personal fucking property, you bastard—”

“Whoa, man. I didn’t know you were gonna be this mad.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, counting to five. When he opens them, Alfred is still smirking.

“It’s not a fuck book. It’s just…encounters I’ve had while being in the G8.”

“Pretty interesting encounters.”

“What’s it mean to you anyway?”

“I mean, did that really happen between you and France?”

Arthur grabs the front of Alfred’s shirt. “I said, _what’s it mean to you_?”

“Oh, you’re rushing me, bro,” Alfred laughs, shimmying out of his grip. “The whole reason I came over was to challenge you to a contest.”

Arthur’s mind goes blank. “A contest?”

“Yeah, man. Your book inspired me,” Alfred says. “And I wanna say I can get more people than you.”

A jolt goes through Arthur’s body. “So that’s it, huh? You’re trying to play to my competitive side?”

“How’d you guess?”

Arthur scoffs. “If… _If_ …I agree, what’s the prize for the winner?”

“I don’t know yet, man,” Alfred shrugs. “I figured we could ask France.”

“Why him?”

“Well, it was mostly his idea.”

“Of course it fucking was,” Arthur grumbles.

Alfred is now going through the fridge, making himself right at home. “So, dude. You in or out?”

“I don’t really think it wise to agree to a competition when the prize for the winner is undecided.”

“Oh, c’mon, man,” Alfred says, shutting the fridge after finding nothing worth eating. “The thrill of a win is enough for you, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“So you’re in, then.”

Arthur looks at him, at his bright blue eyes, his tall stature— _was he always that tall?—_ his form-fitting jumper that really accentuated his muscles _— was he always that muscular_?— and exhales.

“What are the rules?”

Alfred smirks. “Okay, you can’t be with the same person twice, and you have to get them to cum. The world is your oyster.”

“France made those rules, I assume?”

“With some help from me, of course!”

“Any other ones?”

“Oh, if someone gets to someone first, they’re off limits. Like, if I go and fuck Finland, you can’t go and fuck him and then write him down, got it?”

Arthur bites his lip, thinking hard about it.

“Fine, it’s on.”

“Alright, dude!”

 “But,” Arthur continues. “When _I_ win, I want a full apology for stealing my notebook.”

“Done. _If_ you win, that is, man.”

This little bugger. Arthur forgot how competitive he also was. Well, he learned from the best.

“How long are we doing this for?”

“How about a week, starting now. After that, nothing counts.”

Arthur nods.

“Oh, and dude?”

“What, Alfred?”

“It can’t be anyone in that notebook. Which means you gotta go testing waters. Good luck!”

 

 

“You actually agreed to it?!”

Francis’ exclaim of surprise made Arthur clench his teeth.

“Why are you surprised? I’m not that much of a prude.”

“I think it more surprises me that you’re doing it against Alfred.”

“Why is that a surprise?” Arthur scoffs. “He’s an annoying little competitive fuck.”

“Yeah, wonder who he gets that from.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “This is going to be a long week.”

“I mean, at least you have me to keep you company.” Francis purrs, putting his hand over Arthur’s.

“Too bad you don’t count, wanker,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’ve already done you, you’re in the notebook, so you don’t count.”

Francis pouts. “Oh, how Alfred wounds me. Who else is in the notebook?”

“It’s only you and…Roderich.”

Francis raises an eyebrow. “You fucked Austria?”

“We were just messing around, we were drunk. I think it was just head."

“You _think_?!”

“Not the point, Francis,” Arthur raises his voice. “This whole notebook thing is just Alfred trying to make me lose. He actually thinks he can win!”

“Well, I mean, he could.”

“Whose bloody side are you on?!”

“The French don’t take sides, _mon ami_.”

Arthur gets up and scoffs, starting to put his coat on, much to Francis’ dismay.

“Oh, don’t be that way, Artie.”

“I have to go.”

“Have another drink, _mon cherie_. Time is just a man-made construct.”

Arthur doesn’t answer.

“Are you at least staying the night?”

“I can’t, sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Arthur gives Francis a short kiss, and leaves without another word.

 

“Are you serious?” Matthew deadpans.

Alfred looks up from his (quite large) plate of pancakes drenched in syrup. Matt’s plate is significantly smaller, and has marshmallows on top. He’s not really eating, though.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be serious, bro?”

“’Cause this is a weird contest,” his brother says. “You’re pimping yourself out.”

“Oh, c’mon, when don’t I?”

At least he’s honest, Matt thinks.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“No offense, dude, but I don’t really need your approval.”

Matt bites his lip. “If you say so, Al.”

 

 

**Day 2**

When Arthur wakes up, he has a plan.

So far, the only people off limits to him and Alfred are Francis and Roderich, and when he remembers he has the upper hand by already having two points, he feels better about this whole thing. He might actually win against Alfred. That’s gonna feel so good.

Alfred is currently at zero. And if his plan works out, Arthur will have three by the end of the day.

 

Germans are an interesting people. And if Gilbert is anything like Roderich, getting point three was going to be a piece of cake.

There’s a G8 meeting that day, and Arthur pays attention best he can, while also jotting down notes for later today. Seduction notes, he thinks. The whole scenario is funny. But damned if it wasn’t going to work.

When the day’s headed to the end, Arthur phones Roderich’s house from his own.

“Hi, Roderich, it’s Arthur.”

“Oh,” Roderich says, his voice sounding a little weird. “Yes, what do you want?’

“I was wondering if you happen to know where Gilbert is.”

Roderich pauses for a few seconds. “Why?”

“Oh, I was going to ask him for a drink.”

“That annoying one already called and asked for him. He’s probably already at the pub with him.”

Arthur’s heart is in his stomach. “The annoying one?”

“Yeah, ‘Mr. I’m The Hero’.”

“Fuck,” Arthur says aloud.

“What is going on, Arthur? None of you ever want to hang out with me or Gilbert or Ludwig.”

“It’s complicated, that’s all I can say,” Arthur says. “Thanks anyway, Roderich.”

After he hangs up, Arthur curses aloud again. So much for that plan.

 

Alfred is on his third beer and feeling just a little tipsy. Secretly, he’s dying for a Long Island Iced Tea. But if Gilbert wanted beer, then so be it.

“It was so nice of you to invite me out,” Gilbert says, also not even drunk yet. The man knew how to hold his liquor, and that was good for Alfred.

“Sure, man! I figured we could just cast our differences aside and have a drink, why not?”

“I mean, of course,” Gilbert says. “I did help you train for that war…what was it again?”

“My revolution, Gil.”

“Ah, that’s right! How is he anyway…what’s his name? Anton?” Gil is cute, trying to drain his beer stein of the last few drops. His hair is tousled, and he’s wearing his tight blue button up that _really_ suits him. Damn.

“Arthur.”

“Right, Arthur. How is he? Still got those atrocious eyebrows?” Gilbert cackles out a laugh, hitting Alfred’s arm playfully.

“Yeah,” Alfred chuckles, and Arthur’s face comes into his mind’s eye. They really were atrocious, weren’t they? But in an odd way, they just…. suited him.

After he thinks that, Alfred thinks maybe he really is tipsy, because what the fuck.

“Too bad. He would be smoking hot if he fixed those.”

Alfred shrugs. “I don’t think about him like that.”

“Not even a little?”

“No, dude,” Alfred chuckles. “Kinda weird.”

“It would be _weird_ if you sucked his dick. Nothing wrong with a little fantasy.”

Alfred suddenly wants to strangle Gilbert for putting that idea in his head.

“Gil, shut up.”

“Make me.”

So, Alfred does. He pulls Gil into a messy kiss, full of teeth and grabbing of hair, until they’re making out in the pub right there.

The bartender eventually asks them kindly to either order something else or leave, and next thing he knows, Gil is dragging him into the men’s bathroom, slamming him against the stall wall when they get inside.

“You’re sexy.”

“You’re tipsy,” Alfred retorts through a breathy laugh.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re hot.”

“Thanks—” Alfred cuts off when he feels Gil’s fingers at his belt buckle, undoing it expertly and quickly.

“Wait, Gil,” Alfred says, thoroughly worked up. “I wanna do you first.”

“Do me first?” Gil smirks up at him. “Well, I can’t say no to that, can I?”

 

 

When Alfred goes home that night, calling Matt to come pick him up, he feels satisfied. He’d gotten a point, and Gil was really fucking good. Germans were usually filthy. He’d heard from Francis that Roderich certainly was.

He remembers exactly how filthy Gil was. The man had asked Alfred to cum on his face. Jesus—he didn’t really think of Gilbert as being that kind of man. But damn, if it wasn’t hot.

 When Matt shows up, Alfred gets in without a word. He’s listening to some Beatles song, a slushie in his hand.

“Have a fun night out?”

“Sure did, bro,” Alfred smiles.

He can tell Matt already knows. He drives off to their house, his eyes on the road.

“So, uh, did you—”

“To get the question out of the way, yes, I did.”

Matt nods. “It’s not my business, I know. I just don’t want you to get hurt, Al.”

“How would I get hurt?”

“Or hurt others, rather.”

That was understandable. “Don’t worry about me, little bro. I know what I’m doing.”

 

 

**Day 3**

 

 

“So he fucked Prussia?”

“ _Oui, mon ami_ ,” Francis replies. “Well, apparently it was just oral. But it counts! He has one point now, 2 to 1.”

Arthur isn’t surprised to say the least. “I called Roderich’s last night and already knew he was at the pub with him, so good for him, I guess.”

“Wait,” Francis stops painting his nails and looks up. “You knew he was over there with Gilbert and you didn’t go?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Arthur says grumpily. “With my luck, they were probably already going at it when I would arrive.”

“ _Stupide_!” Francis says. “You go there and seduce Gil instead.”

“Well, it’s too late for that now, idiot,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “I have to hatch a new plan.”

“Well, say no more,” Francis says. “I’m here to help.”

Arthur stares at him. “You know, just because we’re fuck buddies doesn’t mean you have to help me.”

“I want to help, silly," Francis rolls his eyes. "Anyway, how about you go for one of the Italy brothers? I hear they’re both good lovers. Plus, they’re all for love and sex and all that. With a little food and wine, you could seduce one of them easily.”

“That idea actually isn’t half bad, Francis.”

“I try,” Francis says smugly, getting to work on repainting his left hand.

 

It’s slightly hard to get Feliciano alone, he’s always clinging to Ludwig. He doesn't let that man go, he swears.

When their training is apparently over, Feliciano goes inside for an obvious break but Ludwig stays outside, continuing to do pushups. Sweat is gracing his entire body, his chest and arms especially.

Oh, those arms. Damned if Arthur hadn’t thought about those while jerking off, he’ll admit it.

Shaking his head, Arthur focuses on the plan in action. Now was the time. He would go up to the German house and knock, and politely ask Feliciano if he wanted to have lunch.

The plan seemed to be going well, until Arthur was on the porch, his fist poised against the door, ready to knock, and suddenly—

“ _Herr_ England, is that you?” to him than he was a few minutes ago, a stern expression on his strong face.

“Oh, hello, _Herr_ Germany.”

“Cut that out,” Ludwig says. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to ask Italy—uh, Feliciano, for lunch.”

Ludwig cocks an eyebrow. "He just had his training."

"Exactly, he must be hungry."

"What's your real reason for being here? Trying to scope out our military tactics, are we?"

"No, sir."

Arthur’s caught. Possible lies aren’t forming in his head for some reason. And the way Ludwig is looking at him is making him antsy.

For a split second, Arthur wants to tell him everything. A strong military man like Ludwig should understand, right? Arthur’s doing this for the victory. He would have to understand something like that.

So, Arthur confesses and gives Ludwig the short version. When he’s done, Ludwig’s expression barely changes.

“Well, say something, dammit.” Arthur says.

“I knew it.”

“Knew it?”

Ludwig laughs slightly, a smile spreading on his face. “Gilbert.”

Something clicks in Arthur’s brain. “He told you.”

“ _Ja_ , of course he told me. He got with your spawn, that American.”

“He’s not really my spawn—”

“This contest is stupid, don’t get me wrong,” Ludwig interrupts. “But I see why you’re doing it.”

“You...you do?"

“You wanna win because you lost to him all those years ago.”

Arthur blinks. It’s really not like Ludwig to remember shit like that, or even get sentimental.

“Yeah,” Arthur replies uneasily. “Maybe that’s why.”

“And you were going to try to seduce Feliciano, _ja_?”

Arthur nods, a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Well, honestly, I saved you from embarrassment,” Ludwig says. “Feli doesn’t wanna be near anyone but me and Kiku lately. So, I guarantee he would turn you down.”

Arthur stiffens. “And how do I know that’s not some ploy to keep him to yourself?”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously? He’s off limits? So, your fuck buddy is off limits?”

Ludwig sort of growls, a certain look in his eyes that Arthur only sees when they’re on the battlefield. That look of adrenaline, of ecstasy.

“ _Ja._ ”

Arthur bites his lip and looks the German up and down, an idea forming in his head. “But does that mean you are?”

Ludwig looks taken aback, but his stern look returns. “I have no interest in being a prize in your silly game.”

“I had no idea you were actually like that, _Herr_ Germany.”

“I’m very much like that.”

“Is it because you’re so dedicated to Feliciano, or because you’re scared you’ll like it too much?”

At that, Ludwig grabs Arthur by the collar of his shirt.

“You know I’m not afraid to choke you out right here.”

“Do it then, I like choking.”

“The amount of times I’ve thought about…” Ludwig begins. “Pummeling you until you’re a pile of begging and pleading, is sickening. However, I know when not to act on my desires.”

Arthur stares back at him, into his cold blue eyes. “I’m literally giving you free reign over my body. I want you to do everything to me. I just have to make sure you cum and I get a point.”

“I’m being used.”

“Aren’t we all just being fucking used?” Arthur says. “Luddy?”

That nickname must’ve gotten him, because the next thing Arthur knows, he’s being dragged away.

 

Ludwig takes him to a warehouse of sorts. There’s old military equipment strewn about, and it’s rather warm and dim. The heat makes Arthur’s lungs feel like they’re going to explode. Or maybe it’s from the anticipation.

Ludwig pushes him against one of the walls and attacks his neck. Arthur’s fingers find and grip his fine blonde hair, a moan escaping his lips. He’s devastatingly hard, it’s almost embarrassing.

“You said you were giving me free reign over your body, _ja_?”

Arthur nods, his head spinning, from either arousal or the heat. Probably both.

“Then I get to do this.”

Ludwig takes a bandana from his pocket and starts tying it around Arthur’s mouth. “Good?”

Arthur nods. “Yes, sir.”

 

What he gets from Ludwig certainly is something.

When they finish, Arthur has bite and scratch marks, a mark around his mouth from the bandana, and bloodshot eyes. But fuck, if it didn’t feel good.

It’s when he’s leaving the German house when Arthur realizes his problem. He liked being used like that, thrown around like that. He loved it, even.

And even though Ludwig was fucking him and his name was escaping Arthur’s lips, Arthur was thinking of someone else.

Someone else…

 

“What happened to you?!” is what Arthur is greeted with when he goes to Francis’.

Arthur shrugs it off and goes to the bathroom for Neosporin.

“You’re telling me Feliciano did this to you?” Francis asks snoopily. “Or was it Lovino? Oh, Jesus.”

“It was neither.”

Francis falls silent. “Alright, and this is the part where you tell me who it was.”

Arthur puts a dot of Neosporin on one bite mark that’s inflamed. “Ludwig.”

Francis’ mouth falls open. “Now I know you are fucking with me.”

Arthur turns his head and shakes it, a weird smile coming over his face. “I guess I broke him.”

“By the looks of it, he broke you.”

“He got close.”

“Fuck,” Francis exhales, putting a hand to his head. “Well, this is good. You're 2 points ahead of Alfred. He's only at 1, you're at 3."

The mention of his name sends a jolt down Arthur’s body. He nods, and excuses himself to go to bed.

 

 

**Still Day 3**

 

“He got Ludwig?”

Matt nods. “Francis just called me.”

“I don’t even know what side he's on,” Alfred muses, throwing the basketball against the wall again. “But wow, man. That old man got _Germany_? I almost don’t believe it.”

“We have Francis’ word,” Matt says. “He saw Arthur when he came back. He’s covered in scratches and bites.”

Alfred looks over at his brother. “For real?”

Matt nods again. “Don’t know how or when, but he did it. That means he’s two points ahead of you.”

Alfred isn’t really hearing Matt’s words. The image of Arthur covered in bite and scratch marks is now in Alfred’s head, and his stomach feels like ice.

What was he feeling? Disgust? Anger that Ludwig would defile him like that? Jealousy that Arthur got Ludwig before him?

Or was it another...type of jealousy?

Alfred didn't know. His head hurt, and he didn't want to think anymore.

 

 


End file.
